Fight for Your Life
by Laura of Maychoria
Summary: A collection of ficlets based on prompts from tumblr.
1. Sunrise on Another World

**A/N:** For Platonic VLD Week! First prompt: Moonlight/Sunlight

Summary: Hunk wants to show Shay everything, and after the war, he finally gets the chance.

* * *

"I just want to show you everything," he told her. "When the war is over... There's so much to see. You think seeing the sky is great... Wow. There's a lot more. I want to show you everything."

Shay smiled, her face shining like the sky she loved so dearly, and Hunk smiled back.

It was a long war. A trying war. A draining war. Hunk saw things he'd never imagined, did things he never wanted to do, and lost more than he had ever known he had. But they won, in the end. Zarkon was defeated, the Galra Empire was broken, and local peoples were starting to figure out what freedom meant. Then, and only then, did Hunk get to keep his promise.

He landed on the Balmera in the yellow lion tired and worn, but triumphant. Rejuvenated, just to step foot on the rocky crust of the homeliest place he'd found in the universe, outside his true home. Shay ran to meet him, beaming like a thousand thousand stars, and he smiled back.

She stumbled to a halt and stood facing him, staring, her face falling not to dismay, but to solemnity at the least. He tried to smile harder, to reassure her, but she reached for him. Slow at first, cautious. As if he might refuse. Hunk stood still, gave her a nod. She could do what she liked with him. Shay touched the new scar that crossed his cheek, trailing from his eye to his chin.

"Does it pain you?" she asked, so soft, so gentle. As ever, Shay was the softest person Hunk had ever known, never mind the toughness of her skin, the solidity of her spine.

He smiled and shook his head. "Not at all. It's a...a badge of honor, Shiro says. A point of pride. But never mind that. Can you come with me? Can I show you?"

Her smile returned, slow and broad and soft, soft, soft. "Yes, please. I must needs say farewell to my family, first, but then... Yes. I want to see everything there is to see."

They went. Allura was magnanimous in victory, granting the paladins every wish they asked for. Wormhole jumps to all the places they hadn't had proper time to explore, to beaches and trade moons and party planets, to friends and families and allies. And frequent visits home.

Shay was amazed by Earth, as Hunk had known she would be. She fell in with his family as if she'd always been there, moving gracefully about the kitchen learning how to season stew with his dad, kneeling in the garage handing tools to his mom as she worked on a greasy engine. They went to museums and aquariums and amusement parks and street festivals. They leaned against a grassy hillside in a misty twilight, then sat under the moon and watched the stars. Hunk taught her all the constellations he'd ever learned, as well as some he made up on the spot.

They stayed up far too late that night, talking and laughing, snuggling under a thick quilt nicked from the living room under his little sister's nose. At some point Hunk fell into a light doze, his head resting on Shay's shoulder. He was going to wake up with a bruise on his temple, probably, but he didn't care. Shay sat straight beside him, still staring at the stars and humming home melodies quietly under her breath. Perhaps Balmerans didn't need as much sleep as humans, or perhaps she just didn't care, because Hunk didn't think she slept at all that night.

He was woken by a soft gasp, a jerk of her shoulder. It did not seem to be a sound of fright (Hunk was immensely sensitive to those now), but it still banished his sleep in an instant. He leaned up, blinking and yawning. "Shay? Something happen?"

"It comes," Shay said, her voice low with wonder. "Your star of Earth. The sun. Light is beginning to show on the horizon."

"Ah. The sunrise." Hunk sat up straighter and stared ahead. He hadn't realized they had taken up a perch facing east last night, but he was glad now that they had. Butter yellow began to creep above the sea's horizon, still dark at this time.

He remembered seeing other sunrises on other worlds. All different, all the same. Remembered the one he'd watched so long ago with Shay on the Balmera, too. That one had been beautiful, certainly, and he had never forgotten it. But there was nothing quite like Earth. Nothing with the exact spectrum of radiation from Sol, nothing with the exact composition of gases in the atmosphere.

It was a familiar sight, certainly, but he hadn't seen it in a very, very long time. Sitting here with Shay, watching the sun emerge from its watery grave, he saw the sunrise with new eyes, too. It was stunningly beautiful, and Hunk's smile was so sustained that his cheeks began to hurt.

He looked over at Shay, saw her staring, rapt, as innocent and open as a child. She didn't even glance at him in response, though she must have felt his gaze on her, for she reached over and squeezed his hand. She said nothing, but laughed, soft and awed.

Hunk looked forward again in time to watch the circle of the sun sail free of the sea. Light beamed across the waves, and all the world was waking. Boats rocked in the harbor below, cars moved in the streets, children yelled in nearby houses and woke their parents from their sleep. He looked to Shay again, and she looked back at him, bright and beautiful and beaming.

"The sun of your world is most beauteous," she said.

Hunk chuckled, low and deep. "Thank you. I'm glad you like it." He looked forward and sighed. "There's still a lot more I want to show you."

She squeezed his hand. "And I want to see it, truly and sincerely. But with this, in this moment, I am content."

"Me too."

They sat there and basked in the light.


	2. The Quiet After

**A/N:** For Platonic VLD Week! Prompt 2: Quiet/Chaos

Summary: Lance can't stand the quiet, not after all the noise.

* * *

There was a bomb. Lance remembered that part. They were at a diplomatic function, again, some more. But this time the king or the president or whatever of this planet wasn't popular. And someone set a bomb.

Pidge spotted it, with her clever little scanners and sweepers. They were all in armor without helmets, small earpieces to be as normal-looking as possible, playing security for the Princess as she worked the center of the room. Then suddenly Pidge was screaming in their ears. _Bomb, there's a bomb, get out get out get out._

Hunk, bless him, asked where it was. He wanted to find it, disarm it. Pidge gave a location, side of the ballroom, parallel to the main entrance, but insisted that there was no time. _Get out get out get out._ Keith was running around the perimeter, herding everyone toward the doors, Hunk was picking up elderly party-goers by the armful and carrying them out. Shiro was a heroic presence as always, guiding everyone in the right direction with a firm, commanding voice that you only had to hear to obey.

Lance fell behind. It wasn't on purpose. He was listening, honest. But there was a kid, some dignitary's daughter. She got cut off from her parent, was too young to handle it, stood by the wall beginning to heave and sob, unable to move. And Lance went for her, because what else was he supposed to do? She was too close to where Pidge said the bomb was.

And the countdown, Pidge's voice in his ear, get out get out, TEN NINE EIGHT, and the crowd streaming around them, SEVEN SIX FIVE, the shouts of anger and fear. Lance reached the girl and grabbed her around the waist and _threw_ her toward the door, FOUR THREE TWO, toward Hunk standing there with his arms outstretched...

The bomb went off. He was too close. He had a fleeting moment to think, _Not again,_ and then everything went very, very quiet.

He was only out for a couple seconds, if that. He opened his eyes and couldn't make sense of what he was seeing. The room was tilting. The ceiling was cracked. Something broken loomed to his right. The wall? Chunks of it. He was half-buried in a pile of rubble, plaster dust coating his face, making him cough.

He couldn't hear anything. He hadn't noticed at first because he couldn't see anyone, just particles still falling in the air, but when he coughed, he couldn't hear it. His breathing sped up, he could feel his chest heaving, but he couldn't hear his own breath. His lungs moved faster and faster, almost choking him. He lifted a hand and felt the sticky flow pouring from his ear. He couldn't hear anything.

Then he was yelling. Didn't know what. For help, for salvation, for someone to come. He could barely feel his body, he was shaking all over, he could barely breathe, and he couldn't hear. What if he could never hear again? What if he could never hear his mother sing, or the waves on the beach, or Hunk's muttering about spices as he moved around the kitchen? What if he couldn't hear Shiro's steady encouragement, or Keith's irritating whine, or Allura's dulcet tones, or Coran's incomprehensible jokes? He wanted to hear Pidge screaming in his ear, he wanted it, he wanted it, and he _couldn't._

His vision tilted, blurred, then resolved, and Shiro's face appeared before him. He was smiling, calm and smooth, just like always. Like nothing was wrong, like everything would be okay. Lance blinked, and Shiro doubled and spun. His mouth was moving, and Lance couldn't hear him.

He said so. Thought he did, anyway. _I can't hear you, Shiro, I can't hear you, I can't hear anything..._ Breath speeding up again, throat aching, all sense stolen away.

Shiro's hands reached out and folded around his shaking head. He held Lance steady between his palms and looked into his eyes. He said something, slow and deliberate, trying to let Lance read his lips.

Lance didn't understand. His vision was too blurry, too confused, and he'd never developed that skill. The tears were making it hard, too. _I'm sorry, I can't, I don't... I don't know what you're saying..._

Shiro sighed. At least it looked like he did. But he pulled away, shook his head, smiled again. Leaned in closer, until their noses were almost touching. Calm and steady, absolutely certain. The hero Lance needed in that moment, of course, always. He held up his hand, thumb touching the tip of his index finger, and mouthed the phrase again, slow and careful.

 _It's okay._

Lance stared at him, still heaving for air. Then he nodded, shaky, frantic, and closed his eyes. Shiro held his face, then let go with one hand and reached up to stroke his fingers gently through his hair. Lance opened his eyes and looked at him.

Shiro was sitting back now, still with that calm, reassuring smile. He nodded, then pointed his thumb over his shoulder. _You ready to get out of here?_

Lance nodded shakily and sucked in a breath. Yes, he was ready to get out of here. Shiro's hands shifted to his arms, his elbows, started to help him up. Lance couldn't hold himself on his feet, though, his knees shaking like jelly. Whether from the explosion or adrenaline or just pure terror, no way to tell. It didn't matter. Shiro scooped him up in his arms and carried him out of there like he weighed no more than a puppy.

Lance hooked his chin over Shiro's shoulder, squeezed his eyes shut, and hung on. He was still shaking all over, but pressed this close to Shiro, feeling his strength and solidity, he could breathe again. Shiro pressed the side of his face against Lance's head, and Lance felt the vibrations through his skull. Shiro was talking.

He couldn't understand it, but he felt it. He could imagine it. Shiro's voice was deep and calm and smooth. He knew what was going on, and he was going to take care of it. They were going to go back to the castle and get Lance into a pod, and everything would be okay. It was temporary. Nothing permanent.

Lance held tight, and he believed.


	3. A Faraway Sky

**A/N:** Platonic VLD Week Prompt 3: Lions/Bonding Also, it is Shiro's birthday.

Summary: Immediately Post-Season Two. When Shiro disappeared, he didn't actually go anywhere.

* * *

When Shiro opened his eyes, he didn't know where he was.

Did he open his eyes? That was a question.

He opened something. Maybe they weren't eyes.

He wasn't alone.

At first, he almost panicked. Shiro did not take kindly to his thoughts being invaded, and despite all the things he didn't know right now, one thing he did know was that he was inside his own mind. Some version of it, anyway. And he wasn't alone in his head.

In certain contexts this was good, even invited. When doing mental training with the other paladins, when forming Voltron. Feeling all of their minds up alongside his, while not always pleasant, was at least as it should be, and there was a certain comfort to be found in being able to do his job as leader in such an intimate way. The four of them could be too loud, too bright, too anxious, too overpowering, but he was able to temper them inside the mental bond. He brought down Hunk's anxiety with calm assurance, Lance's excitement with patience, Keith's passion with careful planning, Pidge's intense curiosity with focus on the mission. Over time, they had learned to listen to him easily, to take his mental nudge with grace and fall in with him so they could all fight bound together tight as cords twisted of silver and gold and iron and copper.

But this was not one of the other four paladins. This presence that Shiro felt alongside him, above him, beneath him, surrounding him, _within_ him... It was not one of his teammates, his charges, his kids. This was someone else.

So yes, at first he almost panicked. Not least because he not only didn't know where he was, but all of his senses were thrown off. There was something almost like seeing, almost like hearing, almost like feeling, but none of them were right. It was as if he...wasn't in his own body. As if he was somewhere else, some _thing_ else, that was the most of terrifying of all.

But the presence with him, who bound him together and buoyed him and trapped him all at once... The presence was familiar. Not human, not remotely. It was like nothing else Shiro had ever known. But he knew it. He knew who it was.

The black lion. He was with the black lion.

If Shiro had had a mouth, he would have gasped. Eyes that were not eyes opened wide, peering around, and he realized that he was seeing through his lion's eyes again, like he had when Black showed him the past, Zarkon and Alfor and the planet once thriving, now destroyed.

 _Black?_ he tried to ask. Tried to shout, tried to scream. He knew Black could hear him, though there were no words in this place. _Where am I? What's going on?_

Black did not respond in words, but a series of images came. The battle with Zarkon, the final moments when Zarkon's enormous hands closed around Voltron's head and poured power and magic through the cockpit where Shiro was so thinly protected. He saw himself screaming, saw Black's sudden panic to protect him, to save him, to take him away. The moments after that were a blur, confusing and racked with pain. Shiro had the sense that they had struck an enormous, rending blow against Zarkon, but then Voltron fell apart, and his memories of the event ended.

Shiro wished he had lungs so that he could pant, let his breath speed up, his heart pound in fear. He hadn't missed physiological responses to emotional stress until he didn't have them anymore, but apparently that was just what this day was going to be like.

 _Black? What happened? What happened to my team? Where am I?_

The black lion did not respond in words. But there was something like a possessive growl, a deep rumbling that shook the world, and Shiro with it. The response did not come in words, but Shiro's brain interpreted it as words. _With me._

Shiro was with the black lion. _With_ Black? What did that mean?

He looked again through the eyes that were not eyes, heard with ears that were not ears, felt with skin that was not skin. He was _with_ the black lion. They...they had merged into one. Shiro wasn't just inside the black lion at this moment. He was _inside._

For a long time, Shiro couldn't think about that anymore. It was too much for him to grasp. For a time, he let himself be. Let himself get used to the idea. It was too large, too overwhelming for his small human brain, and he just couldn't.

He felt movement, heard voices. His teammates, his friends. Grief and pain and anger. The same questions he was asking, over and over. _Why? What did this mean? How could they get him back?_

Shiro ached to answer, but he didn't have a mouth. He didn't have a voice. And the black lion was stubbornly silent.

 _Why?_ he asked, and Black answered with the same series of images. The end of the battle. Zarkon. The power racing through the cockpit, through Shiro's body. Black's need to protect him.

And also, Black's need to be protected.

The black lion did not want to belong to Zarkon anymore. As far as Shiro could gather, the lions had only the rudiments of what might be called emotion, but those that they had were extremely powerful. The need to protect, the need to fight, the need to win. Anger, playfulness, curiosity, love. Fear.

Black was afraid of Zarkon. Shiro had protected his lion before, in a fight he couldn't hope to win, and Black had taken that deeply to heart. Now, Zarkon was too near. Too frightening. Caught in a place between reality and mystery, too near to the plane that was the black lion's special domain. And Black did not want Zarkon to touch him again.

So he had co-opted Shiro as a bodyguard.

 _You have to let me go back,_ Shiro said when he understood this. Urgency poured through him, jolting every nerve that wasn't a nerve. A corner of him was aware of the stressed and grieving conversations that were being held in his absence, and he knew his team needed him. His heart ached to be with them. _I understand that you want to keep me safe, and you want me to fight for you, too. But I can do that better with a body. We'll form Voltron and fight him off, just like we did before. Stuck like this, I can't do that. I can't protect you the way I should. Please let me go. Let me go back to my team._

Black refused. The fear was too great.

Shiro was forced to watch only, a passive observer to the fight he should have been a part of. Team Voltron was in disarray without him, but the arguments were slowing down. Finding a solution. Every heart in the castle was heavy, full of denial. Everyone wanted to get him back, and no one had given up hope of doing that. But in the meantime, they had to move on.

Keith came, his steps heavy and slow. Black lowered the ramp for him without being asked, and for long moments Keith stood at the bottom, staring up into the gaping mouth. Shiro could feel his reluctance, his longing to be anywhere else. Preferably with the red lion, but anywhere but here.

He climbed the ramp, though. Keith's sense of duty was stronger than his grief. Shiro hadn't been listening to the final argument between Allura and Keith, but he knew what words she must have used. Any mention of the big picture, of the overarching need to fight and win a conflict too large for any single person to grasp, any of that would have pushed Keith over the edge. And Shiro had no doubt that Allura had been ruthless, hammering and hammering against Keith's sense of morality and justice until he had been forced to give in.

But when Keith reached the black lion's cockpit, he fell into the pilot's chair, and he wept. "I don't want to be here," he said, over and over again. Shiro was shocked, watching him. Keith didn't cry. He didn't show weakness. He didn't let himself go.

But now, it was too much. "I don't want to be your pilot," Keith told the black lion, shaking his head back and forth. "I'm sorry, but I don't. I want Shiro to come back. I know you want him, too. I can't do this. I don't want to. Please say that you don't want me, either. Spit me out, and we'll forget the whole thing."

Shiro hurt. But Black was still and silent against his mind, accepting Keith's tears and pain but doing nothing to assuage them. This was the way Black wanted it to be, and he had no comfort to offer.

 _Please,_ Shiro begged. _If you don't want to, let me._

This, Black granted. Shiro reached out through Black's quintessence, tugging and pulling in the threads of communication, of touch. Somehow, while he was here, he had figured out how to affect Black as much as Black affected him. They were joined and bonded as one, and that meant that Shiro had power and strength in this place, too. It was why Black had wanted him, after all. For his strength. So he was allowed to do something, at least a little. At least as much as a lion could.

And so he reached out, and he touched Keith's mind. He could not convey words. But he sent images. He sent emotions. He sent the moment they met, so many years ago, Keith's tangled, touseled hair and the wary look in his young eyes, his chubby cheeks and his scowling lips. Shiro's fondness and instant liking for this wary youngster, so like a scrappy young cat found clawing under a dumpster in an alley. How Shiro had longed to draw him in, tease him from his hiding place, pull him close, tuck him into his coat and take him home. And so he had done, though it was much harder and had taken much longer than the rescue of any stray cat would have.

Keith gasped and went still at the first touch of memory and emotion, then collapsed into the pilot chair. "Black..."

 _I'm here,_ Shiro conveyed with all the power he could. Hopefully Keith could catch it, even just a thread of it. _I'm here. I never left. I'll be back soon._

"Black," Keith whispered. "You...you saw Shiro's memories? You're sharing them with me?"

 _I'm here, I'm here, I'm here._

"You..." Keith drew a shuddering breath. "You felt like he did. Want to do what he did. Want to drag me to you, the way he did."

Shiro ached. But if he could have, he would have smiled. _Close enough._

Keith held still for a long moment, trembling. Then he smiled, small and fleeting, and dashed away his tears with a hand across his face. "Okay. Okay. We'll give it a shot."

 _I'm here. I'll always be with you._

For now, it was the best Shiro could do. They would just have to make this work, for as long as they needed to. Black rumbled around him, content with the arrangement.

It would have to do.


	4. Last Meal

**A/N:** Platonic VLD Week Prompt 4: Enemies/Family

Summary: They only have a few minutes to talk. It's never enough time.

* * *

"What makes you think this human is so important?"

Ulaz and Thace were not looking at each other, knowing that would draw attention to their association. They sat close enough at the commissary table to speak to each other in low voices, but anyone who looked at them would only see two Galra commanders sitting at a professional distance and looking straight ahead.

"You haven't seen him in the arena, Thace," Ulaz said gravely, chewing his way through his plate of kress chunks covered with too-pale v'lor sauce. "You haven't seen the way the other fighters look at him, or the uneasy glances he draws from the guards when he does nothing but stand still."

Thace grunted. He avoided the arena whenever possible. At least his work in high-command intelligence gave him an excuse to always be too busy for such frippery. Always another report to read, another interrogation to oversee. "No, but I have heard the tales. Plenty of them. He's just another dust-raised junk celebrity, tawdry entertainment for those who feast on bloodsport. Zarkon's grinder will crush him soon enough."

"No." The word was almost spat, and Thace did not blink in surprise, because that would have been too strong of a sign. But he did hold still for a moment.

"You have not _seen_ him," Ulaz insisted. "The way he holds himself. There is strength and nobility there, qualities lost from us, the Galra, for ages."

That grated. The Galra had once been immensely strong, immensely noble. Zarkon had sucked almost all of that away in his long campaign for domination, and now those who resisted him could only cling to the scraps that were left.

Ulaz felt the same. "The last person I saw with that look on his face was my grandfather, and he is long gone. And the Empire is poorer for it."

Thace grunted, though not without sympathy. "Your grandfather died ignobly, didn't he?"

Ulaz clenched his jaw; Thace heard it, though he did not see it. "He was blamed and scapegoated for a momentary loss on a world with almost no resources. Zarkon ordered his execution without hesitation. That was when my mother began to doubt, and that led me down the path I am currently on."

Thace gave his head a subtle shake as he sat back in his chair and patted his mouth with a napkin. "Your judgment is clouded, Ulaz. You have just admitted so yourself. You see things in this Champion that do not exist simply because you desperately want to see them again."

"No." Quieter, this time. Ulaz's fist clenched beside his plate. "I see them because they are there."

Thace sighed and leaned forward, eyeing the tiny, triangular drone that rested on the table with them, blinking slower and slower. The jamming frequency was about to run out of time. They could only steal these conversations in increments of a few doboshes at once, lest they draw suspicion. So far Thace had been able to erase any notes of their anamolous companionship from the security logs, given his position, but that could not last forever.

"In any case," he said, a touch more gently. "Your request for mission suppport has been denied. If you do this, it will be without Kolivan's approval. You're on your own."

Ulaz bowed his head and looked at the table. "I accept that."

"You're still going to do it, aren't you?" Somehow, Thace wasn't surprised.

"I have to." Strength there, as ever. Thace's mouth curled up in a smile at the edge, just to hear it.

"It's a desperate gambit, sending him to Earth, to the lion we only half suspect is there. And you'll be burning this identity in the process and will have to start over in another role. What do you hope to accomplish?"

Ulaz was silent for a long moment. He stared straight ahead for a time, then glanced at the drone. The light flashes came farther and farther apart. Soon they would stop, and their time would be up. If he wanted to say something, it had to be now.

"I don't know," Ulaz said, honest at the end. He turned his head to look at Thace, just for a moment, before staring away. "I only know that this is what I must do. When I think of all that we have lost, all that has been stripped away... When I think of my grandfather's face, and I imagine telling him everything, I see his smile. He would do the same. He would trust this Champion. Sometimes, that is all I have. Just that knowledge."

"Sometimes, that is more than enough," Thace said softly.

The flashing of the drone stopped. Then it powered up again, back to normal, and floated off the table. Security-baffling protocol finished, back to its ordinary routine. Time for Thace to return as well.

He stood up from the bench and lifted his tray with its empty dishes. He could only pause for a moment, could only rest his hand on Ulaz's shoulder for a certain amount of time. "Farewell, warrior. I wish you success. Vrepit sa."

Ulaz's ears twitched, and he looked up at Thace for the smallest moment, the barest slice of time. His eyes were fierce and certain, and Thace knew his path was set. "Vrepit sa."

Thace left. He never saw Ulaz again.


	5. Deep in the Forest

**A/N:** Platonic VLD Week Prompt 5: Got Your Back/Don't Let Go

Summary: Platonic VLD Week Prompt 5: Got Your Back/Don't Let Go

* * *

"Ugh. You are the worst bodyguards ever."

"Piiiiddggeee," Lance whined, still struggling valiantly with the vines that had tangled him up, wrapping around he and Hunk like the coiling snakes of an ancient Medusa. "Don't say that! It's not my fault we're so far away from water!"

Pidge scoffed as she stomped over to them, the plants parting to make way for her. "Okay, fine, I guess it makes sense for a selkie to be useless in the middle of the woods, but at least you could have kept from making things _worse."_

"I was trying to be respectful!" Lance wrapped his hands, long and brown and strong, around the vine that circled his chest and gave it a careful tug. He knew better than to do any harm to the plants of this forest. He really hadn't expected to be attacked, though, and it was unfair of Pidge to have such high expectations of him.

"Ugh. So useless." Pidge reached the dense tangle of vines and began unwrapping Lance and Hunk from the mess they'd gotten into. Each time she touched a vine, it softened and became pliable, letting her pull it away. She guided the vines to wrap around a nearby tree, forming a green latticework around the trunk.

Lance looked over at Hunk, who stood there there waiting patiently for Pidge to save them, and gave him a mighty pout. "Like I said, water creature here. But what's your excuse, Mountain Man? Isn't there dirt, like everywhere?"

Hunk fidgeted where he stood and looked at Lance with bent eyebrows. "Mountain _troll,_ dude. I work with rocks, not dirt. All this plant life is seriously making me itchy. It's like fur growing where it shouldn't."

"You would know about that."

Hunk nodded easily. Pidge finally reached the last, strongest vine, which had twined around both Hunk and Lance in several big, looping circles. At her touch, it began to unwind, and she pulled it around her shoulders in coils, like a rope. Hunk and Lance fell free with matching sighs of relief. Pidge waddled over to the tree, bogged down by the weight of the gigantic vine, and made a shooing motion with her hand. The vine uncoiled from her body, not a little reluctantly, to curl around its new home.

Pidge sighed and dusted her hands off. "Okay, I guess you'll have to stick closer to me from now on. The forest is only going to get weirder from here."

Lance nodded and fell in behind her as she walked into the deeper forest again. He felt Hunk close at his back, the big troll hunched up with his hands in front of his chest. Lance wasn't really nervous, just cautious now that he knew what the forest was capable of. Hunk, though, was nervous with a capital N.

"How much farther?" Hunk whispered a few minutes later.

Pidge sighed. "We'll get there when we get there."

"Yeah, okay, but when will that be? I swear the trees are looking at me, man. It's making me queasy."

"Everything makes you queasy," Lance said.

"Good rocks don't make me queasy," Hunk argued.

"Almost everything makes you queasy," Lance amended.

"Okay, that's true," Hunk said. "But for real like, right now? Super queasy. This forest is uncanny."

"Of course it is," Pidge said. "That's why we're here."

They fell quiet for a good while, then. They all knew why they were here. When Princess Katyr's father and brother had been kidnapped by the witch Haggar, the ivy prophet's son had named her as the only one capable of succeeding on a quest to find a means to save them. Lance and Hunk, close friends from a very young age, had happened to be at the Seelie Court at the time and volunteered to go with her. The prophet pronounced it good, sort of. Something about destiny and others waiting for them and stars and stuff. Lance didn't remember the whole thing.

But yeah, here they were. The three of them had chosen traveling names, because it was always smart to leave your true name behind when you had to go out into the world, especially into deeply uncanny forests like this one. And after the gift of some spiffy matching armor from the royal stores and a vague direction-point from the prophet, off they went.

Lance was starting to question his and Hunk's wisdom in coming along, now. Pidge was a faerie princess, so of course she was going to do fine in a forest. He should have thought of that. They were just getting in her way, and he didn't know what else he had expected. He had just thought the idea of guarding a princess on a quest was cool. He hadn't expected anybody to _let_ him.

Hunk's stomach growled, and their tiny procession halted as Pidge stopped abruptly and looked back at him. Lance almost ran into her, then stopped too and looked back at Hunk. Hunk tapped his hands together in front of his chest, knuckles curled inward, and gave them a blushing smile. "Sorry. It's, uh, been a while since I had a snack."

To Lance's surprise, Pidge smiled at that, fleeting, but almost fond. "Okay, good news. I was saving this for when we reached a resting point, but I stopped by the kitchens before I left just for such occasions. I've read about mountain trolls, so I'm pretty sure I know what can calm you down."

Hunk's eyebrows popped up to his hairline in eager anticipation, and Pidge fumbled at her belt for a small leather pouch. She undid the tie and held it up. "It's a collection of rare ones. I'll give you a sample." She dug into the pouch with thumb and forefinger and pulled out an iridescent blue pebble the size of a finger joint, then flipped it to Hunk.

He grunted appreciatively and caught it his mouth, then crunched down, fangs glinting in the light filtering through the leaves above. "Mmm, chalcedony!"

Pidge grinned. "I thought you would like that."

Hunk nodded enthusiastically, and Pidge watched him for a moment, still with that soft smile. He finished eating the pebble, then looked hopefully at the pouch. "More?"

Pidge laughed and tucked it away. "Later. Are you feeling better?"

"Oh yeah. A hundred percent."

Lance blew out a breath in relief, too. Having his buddy so wound up had been affecting him too, as hard as he tried not to let it. He smiled at Hunk, then looked to Pidge.

"Thank you. Seriously. That was cool of you."

Pidge gave him a small smile. "No problem. I really do appreciate you guys coming with me, you know. I know I've been a little grumpy, because this whole situation is seriously stressful, but I'm glad I'm not alone out here. I'm sure the prophet's son had a reason for sending you."

That was close as Pidge was going to get to _Sorry I called you useless,_ Lance could tell that. He nodded and gave her an easy smile. "No worries, princess. We're with you all the way, for real."

Hunk nodded and gave her a thumb's up. "Got your back. 'Swhy we're here."

Pidge smiled, and Lance saw her shoulders relax. "I think we really are getting close. Just a little further. We'll make it."

They nodded, and she turned and continued to walk the way they'd been going. As usual, the underbrush and overhanging branches slid out of the way to allow her passage. Lance and Hunk were taller, but as long as they stuck close behind her and ducked down a little, they didn't get smacked too often. Once every ten steps instead of once every three, maybe.

Then, the plant life ahead began to thin, and Lance saw that they were reaching a clearing. The sunlight shone down directly overhead, illuminating an overgrown meadow rife with knee-high grass and wildflowers of every color and description. And as they stepped into the clearing, they stopped and stared in awe. There in the middle, bathed in the soft yellow light, was the statue of a massive stone lioness, curled peaceful and still like a cat sleeping in the sun.

"It's the Guardian of the Forest," Pidge breathed in awe. "Do you think..." She paused and looked at Lance and Hunk, eyes shining with excitement. "Do you think, maybe, we could waken her?"

Lance hesitated. There were old legends about the Guardians of the Elements, of course. No one had found any of them for hundreds of years, but the stories said that in time of need, the Guardians would call their champions and allow themselves to be woken from sleep so they could right some imbalance in the world. Was now such a time?

He wasn't sure he believed it. But it was said that no one could find the Guardians unless they wanted to be found. This must be why the prophet had pointed them here, guided by some cosmic whisper. Still, Lance trembled inwardly at the scope of what they had just stumbled upon.

He had thought they were just going to find some sort of weapon or magic item to help the princess fight her enemies. He hadn't expected to fall into a legend. He was just a selkie from the southern coast... What was he even doing here?

Hunk was already all in, stepping forward eagerly and nodding like his neck was broken. "Yeah, yeah, that must be it! C'mon, Pidge, wake the Guardian! This must be why we're here."

Pidge held still for a moment, then swallowed and looked at the Guardian of the Forest, her eyes shining with eager curiosity. She started to reach out a hand, but it trembled, and she pulled back. She looked to Hunk and gulped, then held out her other hand. "Please?"

Hunk smiled, broad and soft, and folded her tiny, pale hand into his big, dark one. He held her secure, then reached his other hand for Lance. Lance gave it without a second's thought. They were all in this together, no matter what would come.

"Don't let go," Pidge said softly. She stepped forward, pulling her "bodyguards," her new friends, behind her in a line like flowers on a string. She reached out her free hand, fingers trembling.

She touched down on the nose of the Guardian of the Forest. And everything changed.


	6. Before the Fall

**A/N:** Platonic VLD Week Prompt 6: Injury/Healing

Summary: Pre-Series. Sometimes Coran forgets that he is not the one who suffers the most when he is injured.

* * *

"Coran, Coran, you have to stay awake."

Coran coughed, felt blood sputter up from his lips and shower down on his face in a fine mist. His eyes were blurred, but he saw the face hovering over him, eyebrows bent and mouth pursed. That wasn't right. He was supposed to reduce Alfor's worries, not add to them. A pang in his heart, and his hand clenched into a fist at his side. "My king..."

"Don't talk." A hand closed over his, big and warm. Alfor's warmth pressed his side as he knelt there, close enough to touch, to hold, to demand with his face and touch that Coran stay where he was. Coran was cold all over and felt like he was getting colder with every tick. But where Alfor touched him, he was warm. "A cryo-replenisher is being prepared," Alfor said. "But it's best if you're awake. Just hold on for a little while longer."

"As you command..."

"Don't talk." More stern, this time. Alfor's hand tightened over his. "Just look into my face. Listen to my voice."

Coran blinked in assent, since he wasn't allowed to talk right now.

Alfor smiled, tight and strained. "Good. I see you are obeying me, for once."

Coran's forehead wrinkled. That wasn't quite fair.

"Forgive me." Softer. "That was unkind. You have always been the most loyal, the most reliable..." He blinked, suddenly, swiftly, and looked away. Then back to Coran's face, his expression warm and open. "I mean that you must stop ignoring certain of my commands, Coran. Like the one where I told you stay behind me because I was wearing armor and you weren't. You remember that one?"

Coran frowned. His mind was a little fuzzy.

Alfor chuckled. "Of course you don't remember. It was only a few doboshes ago, but I do believe that such commands exit your head the moment they are uttered. No matter. In the future, if I tell you to stay behind me, you will do it. Am I understood?"

Coran nodded. He always nodded when Alfor used that tone of voice. Wasn't always listening, precisely, but he always nodded.

Alfor seemed to know it. He sighed and closed his eyes, then opened them and looked at Coran again. He smiled, warm and wide and reassuring. "The pod is ready now, my friend. They're going to take you out of my hands. The time will pass swiftly for you, I hope. I'll see you when you wake."

Coran nodded and let his eyes fall shut. He was not overly fond the cryo-replenisher, but if Alfor would be waiting for him, he would accept it without complaint. Other hands came then, holding his arms, his shoulders. But Alfor's hand stayed over his, all way into the cool, dreamless sleep.

When Coran woke, Alfor was there, as promised. He smiled, wide and relieved, as Coran stumbled out of the pod and was caught by a technician on either side. Alfor was still wearing his armor, standing straight and tall in the middle of the room with his royal bearing intact. "Help him sit," he commanded, and the technicians guided Coran over to a bench where he sank down with a release of air, like an over-blown heffalump deflating.

He sat there, limp with a case of the old cryo-knees, and gave Alfor a weak smile. He tried to tell him, with his face and his posture, that everything was all right now. It was his job to reduce Alfor's worries, not add to them.

Alfor could not go to him, not now, surrounded by people who needed to see him strong and royal. Later, Coran would expect a hug. If Alfor didn't offer one, Coran would take it on his own. In the meantime, he could smile at least.

Then a small face popped out from behind Alfor's legs, beaming and bright. "Unka C'ran!"

Coran felt his smile change. It was larger now, different in character though no less warm and happy. "Little Princess! I'm so happy to see you!"

Alfor placed his hand on the top of Allura's head. "I tried to tell her that you would need to rest right after coming out of cryo-sleep, but she wanted to see you as soon as possible." And Alfor could not refuse her, not for such a harmless request. "I hope you don't mind."

Coran beamed at him briefly, then looked back to Allura. "Of course not! I'm always ready to see my beautiful princess."

He sat forward on the bench, suppressing a wince when the movement pulled at new scars on his stomach and chest, and held out his arms. Allura giggled, then raced to meet him, hands outstretched. She ran into him without a moment's thought, and Coran lifted her into his lap. She curled up against his chest and tucked her head under his chin, and he ducked his face to nestle against her hair.

"Missed you, Unka C'ran."

"I missed you too, Princess." He slid his hand gently over her soft, messy head. The nursemaids had been neglecting her grooming again. Well, Allura was a stubborn child, and she deeply disliked anyone touching her hair. The only ones she would endure it from without complaint were her father and Coran, and they had both been somewhat indisposed lately.

Allura's hand wrapped around his chest and held on tight. For a moment, he felt her tremble. "Unka, you're all 'kay now, right?"

Her voice was so soft, so small. Coran held still for a moment, heart aching, then started petting her again. He had forgotten. It was not only himself, and it was not only Alfor, who suffered when he was careless.

"Of course I am," he said, gentle as could be. "I'll always be all right. That's a lion-bound promise. Do you believe me?"

Allura nodded, then turned her head and pressed her face into his chest for a moment. Coran looked over her fluffy white head of hair to meet Alfor's eyes, and he tried to apologize without speaking. Alfor gave him an understanding nod.

Coran had made an enormous mistake, jumping in front of Alfor like that. Only now did he realize it. In that moment, Coran and Alfor and Allura were all bound together in a promise. A promise that Coran would never make such a mistake again.

Alfor would hold him to that promise. And Coran was glad.


	7. A Bow in the Hand

**A/N:** Platonic VLD Week Prompt 7: Free/AU

Summary: Robin Hood AU. After months of recovery, Shiro is ready to try the bow again.

* * *

"How do you fare?"

Shiro looked up from where he sat on a fallen log, thoughtfully flexing his right arm up and down, feeling the give and pull of every muscle, every sinew. "It feels well. Back to full strength, I think."

"Are you sure? Your injuries were extensive." Keith sat down next to him, staring unabashedly. Shiro resisted the urge to roll down his tunic sleeve and hide the scars away. Keith had seen them already; he'd already seen everything. So had the rest of Shiro's band. It didn't make it any easier, sometimes. When he spent too much time thinking about it, when everything felt fresh again.

But right now, Shiro was sure. "Come along, Keith O'Scarlet." He stood up and clapped his young kinsman heartily on the shoulder. "I want to try the bow again."

Keith grumbled, but he hopped lightly to his feet and followed Shiro back to the main camp.

It was the middle of the day, deep in the middle of Sherwood, and most of the camp was drowsing. Little Hunk sat by the cookfire and stirred a simmering pot, and Lance-a-Dale rested against a trunk nearby, idly strumming his lute and humming tunefully to himself while Hunk bobbed his head in appreciation. When they saw Shiro striding determinedly across the camp toward the area that had been set up as a target range, both stopped what they were doing and jumped to their feet to follow.

"Is it happening?" Lance asked, fingers tripping over the lute-strings with less than his usual skill. "You're going to try the bow again?"

Shiro nodded, his eyes focused ahead, though Keith frowned. It was Keith's nature to be protective, so Shiro did not blame him. But it was Shiro's nature to be decisive and firm, and he had made up his mind. He was going to take back what had been stolen from him by the usurpers who currently held this country in thrall.

Some of Shiro's scars had been earned in the Crusades, fighting in Alfor the Lionhearted's army, and Shiro was not ashamed of those. But when he had returned home, only to be immediately taken captive as a trespasser on his own land by Sheriff Sendak... Well. Things had changed.

It burned Shiro's heart to think of the corrupt monsters who had seized his ancient homestead in his absence. Shiro's father had died while he was away at war, which was grief enough, but then the local Sheriff had declared that Shiro was dead, too, and with no legal heir, his property was forfeited to the state. Shiro's mother and sister had been evicted, his loyal servants driven off. Shiro's remaining family was safe in London now, but he hadn't been there to help them find safety. Shiro's hand clenched into a fist as he imagined their panic and grief when they were forced onto the streets like homeless beggars.

When Shiro returned from the long war, knowing nothing of this, and tried to access his home, he was arrested as an imposter and tortured to make him confess to his crime. They had done the worst to his right arm, knowing his fame as an archer. Sendak had thought they could make him break by threatening the most valuable thing left to him. The wicked sheriff had vowed more than once to cut it off, to mangle it and crush it so Shiro would never recover. Somehow, Shiro had avoided that fate. Divine intervention, he could only guess.

Friar Coran had helped him escape more than three months ago. Since then, Shiro had swiftly gained a reputation in Sherwood under a new name, Robin Hood, as he attacked government officials and complacent envoys swathed in a green cloak with a hood drawn tight to hide his face. Soon, other disaffected men wandered in to join him, and now Shiro had quite a merry band.

Till now, he had been forced to fight only with sword, staff, and fist. His wounded right arm was not strong enough to draw a bow, and the recovery process had been long and tedious. The lack of archery from "Robin Hood" had been useful to obscure his identity, since no one connected the new outlaw in Sherwood with the famed archer, Takashi Shirogane. If Shiro needed something attacked from a distance, his men, most notably Lance-a-Dale, handled it with ease.

This wasn't about being effective in combat. Shiro, as Robin Hood, could fight very well in melee and close combat, and he could strike fear into any enemy's heart with the power of his voice and the strength of his convictions. He didn't need to be able to shoot again in order to continue this fight.

But he wanted to. He wanted to draw his old bow, as tall as he was and just as strong. He wanted to hit the target with all of his skill, to split an arrow in twain from fletching to point. This was something he needed to take back from the vicious cur who had dared to try to steal it from him.

At the range, he snatched up his personal longbow, so long ago set aside with no one powerful enough to string it. He took up a waxed string and slipped the loop into the bottom nock, then pressed down with his weight and bent the bow far enough to string the top nock as well. He stood with the bow in his left hand, feeling it sing with tension. It felt right there, the solid wood steady and firm against his palm.

Lance and Little Hunk cheered and clapped from the sidelines, and Keith brought him a handful of arrows, freshly fletched and balanced by Lance's careful hand. Shiro knew the work at the glance, familiar as he was with his men and their abilities. He took the arrows from Keith with a grateful nod, then stuck them point down in the ground at his feet in a clump of grass. He lifted one arrow and nocked it on the string, then stood facing the target, fingers braced on the bowstring, holding the arrow in place.

This was it. The test. Shiro drew a breath, then let it out. He hadn't been able to do any shooting for well over half a year. The last time had been at a resting point somewhere along the road back home, and it had only been for fun. He hadn't done any serious practice for longer than that. The last time he had shot a good hundred arrows, he had been surrounded with dust and sand.

But no more. A new time was beginning now. Shiro felt Keith's tense stance on his right, his fierce concentration, his desire for Shiro to succeed and his determination to be there even if he failed. He felt Lance and Hunk's eager excitement on his left, their easy confidence in their leader, no fear, no doubt, simple certainty that he could do anything he put his mind to. Their simple trust in him made him tremble, at times, with the weight of such responsibility. Now, though, it made him strong.

Slowly, carefully, Shiro drew back the string to his ear. His hands held steady and strong, no wobble in his grip on in the pull. He could feel the remaining weakness down deep in his muscles and knew he didn't have many of these in him, not yet. He needed to do much more exercise with his right arm before he would be able to shoot his old numbers of arrows.

But at least he could pull the bow, even once. A few weeks ago, he hadn't even been able to do that. And the arrow was steady on the string, not even a waver. Shiro focused forward again, his heart beating fast. He looked at the target, seeming so far away, remembered when he had been able to send arrows to whatever distance he chose like birds on the wing.

If he let go of the string, the arrow would fly. Where? Would it go where he told it to? Shiro wasn't sure, though he kept only certainty on his face. Again, he took a moment to listen to Lance and Little Hunk, to feel his new companions' trust and confidence in him. He felt Keith's tension at his side, his unwavering support.

For as long as he held the string at his ear, Shiro could luxuriate in not knowing. He could believe that if he let the arrow go, it would find the target as of old. If he chose, he could relax the pull, set the arrow down, and tell his men that he would try again later. But if he let the arrow go, he would know for sure just how badly his skilled had atrophied. If he missed the target, by inches or by yards, Lance and Hunk and Keith would all see it. They would know how far he'd fallen. Would it affect their faith in him, their ability to obey his orders without hesitation?

No matter. Shiro could no longer stand the uncertainty. He needed to know, one way or the other.

He held still, watched the breeze, waited for his moment. Then he released his breath and at the same time, the bowstring. The arrow flew from his fingers, speeding away like the best messenger in all of God's green earth. And it struck the target.

Not quite a bullseye. Not quite his old level of skill. Shiro still had work to do to regain that, he could see that well. But he'd hit the target. All was not lost.

His shoulders fell down, and he stepped back, relief pouring over him and slumping his shoulders, loosening his grip on the bow at last. Beside him, Lance-a-Dale and Little Hunk were cheering like madmen. They had linked elbows and were skipping around each other in a circle, yelling at the top of their lungs in repeated huzzahs. Much more of this and they would rouse the camp, and Shiro didn't know whether to tell them to be quiet or let them do it.

He looked to the other side and saw Keith watching him still, a small smile on his face.

"You did it." Quiet, proud. Shiro and Keith had only reconnected recently, after a childhood and adolescence of misunderstandings and missed opportunities, but already Keith O'Scarlet, he of the quick temper and the quicker blade, seemed to know Shiro almost better than he knew himself.

Shiro smiled back. "I did."

His skills were returning to him, slow but steady. More men were gathering to their side by the day. After escaping Sendak's prison, Shiro had been almost frantic with despair, unable to see an end to the insurmountable battles that faced him. He had fought anyway, because it was not in him to surrender. But only now, at last, did he see a chance of fighting through to the end of this.

He tightened his grip on his bow, lifted it, looked to the target. He took another arrow from the ground. And he shot again.


End file.
